No Visible Exit
by maximerouge
Summary: When the good Dr. Lecter acquires a new patient whose diagnosis alludes him, he inquires further and discovers something completely unexpected and not altogether unwelcome.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NBC's "Hannibal" or any information pertaining to Thomas Harris' novels.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for all of Hannibal season one as well as Thomas Harris' novels, specifically Hannibal Rising. Contains as well canon appropriate violence, murder, emotional manipulation, and implied cannibalism.

* * *

**No Visible Exit**

**Chapter One**

"Miss Prudhomme." Hannibal greeted his newest patient for their first session. As an evening appointment, hers would be the last before he left for the night. "Please come in."

"Thank you, Dr. Lecter." She gave him a small smile as she entered the office, removing her burgundy peacoat and taking in every detail of its expanse while paying particular attention to the books lining his loft. "Your office is beautiful. Very… 'Sheridan Theatre'." The faint trace of French in her voice accented strange syllables, giving her speech a lilting cadence that most would find choppy but that Hannibal thought sounded natural and quite melodious to his trained ear.

Appreciation for the reference to the American realist showing in the slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, Hannibal replied casually as he moved to his desk to retrieve her file, "I can certainly see the relation, although Edward Hopper did not factor into the design; if he had, I might've forgotten the doors."

Her eyebrows raised lazily as her lips stretched into a minuscule smile, and she proceeded to her seat. "Not again."

They shared a look of mutual approval as he sat across from her, opening the file and reviewing the notes from his conference with her parents - while she was certainly old enough to handle her own affairs, her parents had insisted on the meeting. The file he scanned simply refreshed what they explained about her behavior and provided the paperwork from her prior psychiatrists - seven of them, to be exact.

In order to establish a foundation for his diagnosis, Hannibal began, "Tell me about yourself."

The preceding interest in her expression faded to a kind of quiet disappointment. When she spoke, her voice held a note of fatigue. "My name is Odette, I am nineteen years old; originally I'm from Pau, France, but we moved to America when I was about ten. Formerly, we lived in a house just outside of New York, but my parents thought a change of scenery would help me, so we now live in Baltimore." She shrugged, as if she had nothing left to explain.

"What of your education? " Hannibal inquired, recognizing that she would not willingly give up anything personal; she would simply continue to relay her history without addressing herself.

"I tested out of school when I was fifteen and began taking courses at Yale. At the end of the term, I'll have a bachelor's in music." She offered no further explanation of her interest in the subject, yet Hannibal understood that anyone willing to suffer through an Ivy League program, especially at the age that she had, would have to be both passionate and more than talented. As he theorized that music might be a method of reaching beneath her mask, Hannibal also felt his personal intrigue rise, wondering quietly if he would have the chance to listen to her play.

Continuing with his hypothesis, he questioned, "And may I ask what your instrument of choice is?"

Interestingly, she seemed to sense his manipulation and take it as a challenge. With narrowed eyes and a smirk, she answered ambiguously, "Asking a musician to choose an instrument is like asking a parent to choose a child."

Returning the repartee, he remarked, "Yet all parents play favorites."

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she replied. "Ah, but they deny it to the very end."

Silently, he appreciated the natural banter, although it barred him from making his diagnosis. It was a type of companionship that he had not experienced in a very long time. While he knew a number of colleagues that came close, most regarded him at a distance, as if unconsciously responding to his natural predatory bearing. Alana Bloom would be the exception; however, even she had abstained from coming any closer than friendship.

But the young woman sitting in front of him either did not notice what others feared or chose not to respond to it; regardless, she seemed to view him… equally. She sat without tension, without watchful glances, without a note of apprehension. And that puzzled him as much as it pleased him.

He would need to be more careful, then, by both refusing his interest to cloud his diagnosis as well as keeping her at a distance. This young woman was clearly intelligent and perceptive enough to see through any cracks in his own facade.

Putting his mind back on the topic of her diagnosis, he made the deduction that she would most likely notice and ultimately thwart any of his sly methods due to the amount of psychiatry that she had already received. Perhaps going the direct route would be more prudent.

"What do you hope to accomplish with these sessions?" Hannibal inquired.

The slight up-twitch of her eyebrow told him she was surprised by his candor, yet she replied drily, "Apparently I need to be cured."

He addressed the clear ambiguity of her statement. "Of what, exactly?"

The note of fatigue crept back into her expression, and she answered, soft but harsh, "Myself, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal assumed that notion derived from an authority figure - one that had obviously not gained her respect - as he noted the resentment in her voice. He managed also to define a quiet hope that she struggled desperately to staunch that perhaps someone might tell her otherwise.

But to be honest with himself, she appeared to have reason for her resentment; he had so far seen nothing to warrant the great sum of therapy she had received. At this point, he would only go as far as to say that she may have some form of depression considering the tired look that came over her at times. But it was a light depression at best.

In fact, her blasé statement about her education had told him much more than he had let on. He had seen no societal deviance; according to her academic record, she was nothing short of extraordinary. She appeared to have no dysfunction; she couldn't have while simultaneously progressing through close to four years in a prestigious music program. Currently, the only danger he could foresee was a danger to herself if her depression was allowed to progress.

With these inferences made, the only further diagnosis he could come to that included both the reasoning for her seven previous psychiatrists, her parents' desperate concern, and her seemingly quite normal appearance was that of psychopath.

That thought only increased his interest in her.

Nevertheless, she had no record of symptoms of Antisocial Personality Disorder emerging in her childhood, or even adolescence. No cruelty to animals, no legal altercations, no fire setting. The only symptom that fit with psychopathy was her trouble with parental authority. Strangely, authority figures other than her parents - teachers, employers, previous therapists - had apparently said nothing negative about her. Her parents were the only ones to raise a grievance.

Perhaps therein lied the answer he sought; he thought to observe her relationship with her parents.

Looking down at his wristwatch, he noted the remaining time and, deciding to use it proactively, he stated, "We have about fifteen minutes left in the session. However, I have no further questions for you. I do want to thank you for tolerating them, though, as I know it must be tedious to answer the same questions time and time again. I simply want to get to know you on my own terms, and I promise that next session will not be quite so orthodox." Standing, he gestured to the loft, remembering her earlier captivation with his collection. "You may browse if you wish; if anything catches your eye, please feel free to borrow it."

Her eyes lit up with gleeful anticipation, and she stood as well. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter." Crossing to the ladder, she climbed up and began to search for an intriguing tome.

Hannibal watched her habitually for a few moments before moving to sit at his desk for both paperwork and mulling over possible situations to observe her and her family in.

After finishing his paperwork, it took about two minutes to establish five different settings for possible examination. Another minute passed, and he narrowed the list to the obvious choice that would both allow him to observe and grant him the chance to gain more respect with his newest patient. Secretly, it was also a possible opportunity to listen to her play.

Coming to his decision, he watched her for the remaining five minutes of their session. She scanned the shelves with ease, a slight tilt to her head. Any selection that caught her eye was immediately snatched from the shelf and examined deftly by her scrutinous eye. It became a source of amusement for him as he began to detect more and more hesitation in her placement of the books back on the shelf.

Smiling despite himself, he scaled the ladder adeptly and plucked one of his favorites from the shelf. Her back was turned to him as he walked up to her. When he touched her arm to get her attention, she flinched violently and moved into the stance of one being attacked, her expression one of naked fury and fear.

Her expression caught his attention. While most people failed to notice his approach due to the near silence of his footsteps, he generally received apologetic expressions mixed with a chiding amusement turned inward at their overreaction. However, her reaction seemed to him so fluid and unconscious as to be qualified a habit.

Nevertheless, after a moment, he watched her eyes focus on his face in recognition, and she visibly relaxed, pretending - more to herself, he suspected - that she had not just prepared for an attack.

He was forced to admit that something about her expression disheartened him.

Ignoring that thought, he offered her the novel, going along with her game of pretend. "As our time is up, I thought I might make a recommendation. It is a personal favorite." She took the book from him willingly, without any hesitation at all, smiling appreciatively. He wondered what thought had convinced her to ignore her previous fear and anger.

After quickly scanning the back cover, she looked him in the eye, conveying her gratitude. "Thank you very much, Dr. Lecter." A wide smile stretched across her face, and he was struck by the contrast that happiness provided in comparison to her customary expression that seemed to convey a great weight on her shoulders.

He smiled back, once again filing a thought that he was not prepared to consider at the moment and escorting her to the top of the ladder. Climbing down first, he offered his hand for balance on the last few rungs. She took it without hesitation, offering another grateful smile; her hand felt like ice.

They both crossed to the door, which he opened for her as he would for any patient. She exited - he smelled a delicious blend of lilac, almond shampoo, and a refreshing perfume as she passed - and before she could go too far, Hannibal put his potential solution into action. "Miss Prudhomme." She stopped and turned to him curiously. "I would like to invite you and your family to dinner, if I may. Tomorrow at 8 o'clock."

Her expression turned to one of pleasant surprise and puzzlement, but she nodded. "I'll let them know."

As she resumed her departure, she made it halfway down the hallway before she halted. Spinning on her heel, she began, "You haven't given me-" He watched as an idea crossed her face, and a suspicious smirk appeared on her lips as she cut herself off. Opening the front cover of the book he had given her, she found what he had left her and smiled to herself, turning once again and proceeding to the exit, waving without looking back.

Finally closing the door to his office, he sat down at his desk for last minute paperwork and allowed himself a satisfied smile.

* * *

**A / N**** :** Thank you for reading & please let me know what you think! All reviews and constructive critiquing are welcome. The next chapter should be up within a week!

**References**** :** Firstly, the Edward Hopper reference - In an article from the LA Times, Patti Podesta, the production designer of "Hannibal", explains that Edward Hopper is one of the artists featured as inspiration for the set design (I believe his painting _The Sheridan Theatre_ to be the most influential). Furthermore, Edward Hopper has simply forgotten to portray a door in a few of his paintings, most famously _Nighthawks_. When asked by a Chicago Tribute reporter about the philosophical meaning behind the diner having no clearly visible exits, Hopper responded "Sh**. F***. I did it again," and slammed his hat on his leg.

Secondly, in clinical psychology, modern judgements of abnormality are are not based on any one criteria; instead they are influenced by interaction of the Four D's _- _dysfunction, distress, deviance, and dangerousness. The Four D's together make up mental health professionals' definition of behaviors or feelings considered abnormal. They capture what most of us mean when we call something abnormal while avoiding some of the problems of using only the cultural relativism, unusualness, distress, and illness criteria. When Hannibal factors in Miss Prudhomme's outstanding academic records, this is the system he references.

Finally, Antisocial Personality Disorder - otherwise known as psychopathy. Personality disorders are unlike other mental disorders in that the distress addressed by the Four D's is actually experienced by the people who associate with the patient, rather than the patient himself, which is one reason why Hannibal is more inclined to believe her to possess a personality disorder over, for example, a mood disorder. Like most personality disorders, there are many factors that may contribute to the development of symptoms of this disorder. Because the symptoms are long lasting, the idea that symptoms begin to emerge in childhood or at least adolescence is well accepted. These adolescent symptoms (age 15 and under) include difficulty with authority, legal altercations, cruelty to animals, fire setting, and a dislike or anger toward authority. Some argue that a major component of this disorder is the reduced ability to feel empathy for other people. This inability to see the hurts, concerns, and other feelings of people often results in a disregard for these aspects of human interaction. Irresponsible behavior often accompanies this disorder as well as a lack of remorse for wrongdoings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NBC's "Hannibal" or any information pertaining to Thomas Harris' novels.

**Warnings: **Contains spoilers for all of Hannibal season one as well as Thomas Harris' novels, specifically Hannibal Rising. Contains as well canon appropriate violence, murder, emotional manipulation, and implied cannibalism.

* * *

**No Visible Exit**

**Chapter Two**

"Have a lovely evening, Franklin." Closing the door on his final patient of the day, Hannibal breathed a mental sigh of relief. The day had passed slowly for him. While his patients usually held his interest during their sessions, today they had not engaged his intellect enough to sate him. He found his thoughts wandering in a morbid direction, fantasizing about what dish suited them best. He could not even use those thoughts to consider what he would prepare for his upcoming dinner, as he had already covered every possible detail the night before.

And a one Miss Odette Prudhomme seeped in like an autumn breeze; one minute, no trace of her to be found, and the next, completely without notice, she occupied the forefront of his mind. She left so many questions unaddressed, and his natural curiosity both reveled in and simultaneously hated this. To him, her enigmatic nature equated Pandora's Box, a dangerous object begging to be cracked open.

And why? This question most plagued him. Why was this mere slip of a girl so fascinating to him? She was not openly interesting. Her exotic features might fascinate some - full lips, petite nose, Mediterranean complexion - but Hannibal had never been one to hesitate over physical appearance. He was attracted more to intellect, and while she had certainly proven her intelligence - not many knew that Edward Hopper had overlooked a visible exit in several of his pieces - that failed to explain why she haunted his mind. Perhaps in noticing her relaxed demeanor around him, he had allowed himself to relax as well.

It had been a very long time since he had relaxed around anyone.

Ending his frustrated musings on that note, Hannibal gathered up his belongings and, locking his office for the night, made his way out to the car. The ride to his home passed swiftly as he found himself occupied with ideas of how to run the nights festivities. What manipulations would best serve his purpose.

Arriving at his home, Hannibal moved straight into dinner preparations, reveling in the peace and beauty of the culinary arts. After his early retirement from the surgical field, he had felt something akin to depression; he had lost a source of beauty in his life. His surgical work was not only efficient - it was elegant. Fortunately, the culinary arts filled the spot spectacularly.

Half-past seven rolled around quickly, and, adding the last touches to the meal, Hannibal left the kitchen to change into more suitable attire. Not quite a black-tie dinner, though certainly more important than one, he decided on his traditional grey suit and pale yellow dress shirt with matching tie.

Thirty minutes later, just after Hannibal finished adjusting the last part of his Windsor knot and made his way down the stairs, he heard a knock at the door.

Let the games begin.

Opening his door, Hannibal greeted his guests. He saw clearly from their standing arrangement on his patio that her parents liked to assert their dominance and superiority quickly and without question to any new acquaintances - shoulders back, chins tilted upwards, confidence in every movement. His patient, however, stood off to the side, unassuming without being overlooked. "Good evening. Please come in." He smiled at them as they entered, closing the door behind them.

"Your home is lovely, Dr. Lecter." Her mother commented on his interior design as she looked around in a manner that he assumed she wanted to come across as admiration when in fact all he saw was condescension.

"Yes, quite right, darling." Mr. Prudhomme agreed with his wife - as if his opinion made hers more valid.

He handled their arrogance with ease. "Thank you very much, but please, call me Hannibal." He requested humbly, shaking hands with her father, who introduced himself as Aldéric, and kissing the hand of her mother, introduced as Seraphine; while he may have met them already, it had been on a professional basis, formal in nature. But the evening was not designed for professionalism only. He would need them to become comfortable, and for that, first names would be necessary. He did notice that, while both of her parents possessed a French accent, they were not quite the equivalent of their daughter's. Hannibal mused that perhaps they were raised in a separate part of France. "May I take your coats?"

"Of course." Seraphine purred appreciatively, slipping out of her long white coat to reveal a garish red dress.

After Hannibal had hung her coat in the closet in his foyer, Aldéric passed his own to Hannibal, revealing a skinny suit; all black, no tie, top hole left unbuttoned. While Hannibal admitted to the polished nature of the look, he was reminded of an adolescent trying desperately hard to be well-liked.

Finally, his patient gratefully handed him her coat - the same burgundy peacoat she had worn to their session - and he was able to speak to her without showing outright disrespect; he suspected any attention to her during the dinner would not pass well with her parents, obsessed as they seemed with being the centers of attention. "Hello, Miss Prudhomme. How are you this evening?" He asked, smiling kindly at her. He quite enjoyed the dress she wore, an A-line which was not quite knee-length and overlaid with a black and gold lace. Interestingly, she had chosen mens-style black ankle boots as well.

"Very well, thank you." She matched his smile almost exactly, hers slightly feral. He noticed that this unnerved her parents, as much as they tried to pretend it did not, but of course he felt nothing of the sort and instead found himself wondering if she was on edge or planning something mischievous.

For some reason he hoped for the latter.

Pushing that thought to the side - an unbearable habit that was becoming more frequent - he escorted his guests to the dining room, seating Miss Prudhomme to his right with her mother and father to his left.

Before seating himself, he poured the wine, a Jurançon. He had chosen it specifically for its origin of the Pyrénées and note of spice in the bouquet; although he preferred red wine, the impact of his choice was more important than its color. He waited to fetch the hors d'oeuvre to observe their reactions to his selection. Taking a slow sip himself, he noticed that, while Aldéric and Seraphine simply nodded appreciatively at their glasses, Miss Prudhomme tasted the wine absently, then seemed to focus on it in disbelief, taking another taste as a pained expression crossed her face. She immediately played as though nothing had happened, and her parents managed not to notice anything of her reaction.

Hannibal decided that would be the appropriate time to retrieve the first course.

Stewing over the contrasting reactions between his patient and her parents as he added the final touches to his hors d'oeuvre, he felt surprised at his own miscalculation. He had expected the family to recognize the wine and appreciate his reference to their daughter's hometown; a simple parlor trick designed to gain favor. He had not anticipated the apathy of her parents or the distress of his patient.

She had proven him wrong, and that thrilled him.

Carrying out the first course, Hannibal set the dish on the table elegantly. Introducing the dish and serving each of them, he finally took his seat. "Bon appétit." As they began eating, he noticed his patient taking controlled breaths, an expression of pointed neutrality on her face. But in fact, her almost robotic movements told him that she did not feel entirely comfortable with the situation; a reaction contrary to her demeanor during their session.

The first course passed smoothly with small talk progressing throughout, although his patient did not contribute very much; generally she spoke only when spoken to as if she had been trained to do so, but occasionally she would make a clever comment, earning sharp looks from her parents and a proud smirk from him, which he hid behind his fork.

When he was not driving the conversation, he observed the similar habits, appearances, and speech patterns between his patient and her parents. To be honest with himself, there were not many. Her features were almost exactly a blend of her parents' features, but not quite. It was the same with her habits and speech pattern; they mimicked her parents, but only to a point. An underlying note of her was subtly different than them in every way, a trait he had noticed with their accents as well. Because he recognized that he was most likely the only person who noticed this slight alteration, he questioned to himself if the difference was deliberate on her part. If in fact she was a psychopath - more presumably a sociopath - then it was almost certainly a conscious decision in her mask of normalcy; her level of intelligence would not allow simple coincidence.

Taking a moment to clear their dishes and retrieve the main course, he entered to a tense moment between his patient and her parents. They seemed to be giving her a command, which she seemed to be refusing. Their fevered whispering broke off as he entered, and he pretended as if he had not noticed.

He explained the dish, noting that his patient was the only one to say thank you as he served them. In fact, her manners throughout the meal so far had impressed him while her parents manners were passable at best. They seemed more preoccupied with proving their superiority, a goal which annoyed him in a similar manner to an unwelcome gnat.

Deciding that he had heard enough of her parents babbling for the moment, Hannibal addressed his patient during a natural pause in the conversation. "Are you enjoying the book I lent you, Miss Prudhomme?" Hannibal saw the look her parents shared at the use of her title after addressing them by first name and chose to ignore it.

She looked up from her plate, meeting his eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. "Immensely." She paused, her smirk growing into a lazy half-smile. "I would elaborate, but I have so much to say about it, and my mind struggles with a lack of words." She paraphrased the final page of the novel - a book of poetry and short stories that he had owned since he was her age - making it clear that she had already finished it. It had been a gift, and he had read and reread it many times, covering the margins in his own thoughts and ideas. None that would clearly define his true self, but enough that she could see the outline. He would need her to see it, if his diagnosis was correct.

Her parents, desperate to remain the focus of the conversation, quickly began prattling once more, demanding his attention. Reluctantly, he turned from his patient, but not before slipping her a smile of his own, watching the slightly stiff note in her posture visibly relax.

As a lull in conversation came around some time later, Hannibal moved to clear the dishes for dessert. The wine glasses would return this time as well, and in order to make only one trip, he requested, "Miss Prudhomme, would you mind helping me with these?"

"Not at all, Dr. Lecter." She looked relieved to be leaving the table, and clearing what dishes were left, she followed him into the kitchen. Setting them where he indicated, she stood off to the side and watched his preparations attentively.

"I did not want to put you on the spot," He began as he worked, "But I would be honored to listen to you play." He watched her carefully, studying the conflicted expression on her face. After a moment, he went back to his preparation, patiently awaiting her response.

He had just finished when she spoke. "I will play for you," She paused, "Eventually." He nodded in understanding, pleased that she had agreed. He was willing to wait.

Dropping the subject, he handed her two dishes, and they entered the dining room once more, serving the final course. The remainder of the meal passed without event, and Hannibal discerned only a small amount of new information before the evening came to an end.

However, he was not disappointed. He had accomplished his goal in that he had seen that base of the relationship with her parents was built on a shared feeling of mutual disgust and disapproval; this would aid him in later sessions.

By the time he escorted them out, he had judged Antisocial Personality Disorder to be the only possible diagnosis. Her behavior was too normal, too personable, to be anything else. He had ruled out a mood disorder; while he had thought it possible for her to have a light unipolar depression, he once again visited his original prognosis that it was unlikely do to the level of activity necessary to complete a Yale music program. Also, he had come to the conclusion that what he had mistaken as fatigue during their session was actually simple disinterest.

Antisocial Personality Disorder fit _all_ of her symptoms. Because, against the odds, she had managed to hide any emerging childhood symptoms, he would officially diagnose sociopathy rather than psychopathy.

Rethinking that, he came to the decision that, while he would treat her as a sociopath, he would officially document it as unipolar depression, keeping her mental condition to himself.

Their next session, then, as he prepared to push her, would be thoroughly enjoyable.

* * *

**A / N : **Thank you for reading & please let me know what you think! All reviews and constructive critiquing are welcome. The next chapter should be up within a week!

**References : **Jurançon - As Hannibal loves making clever gestures with his meals, I thought it appropriate to include a wine reference. Jurançon is a kind of white wine originating in the same area at the base of the Pyrénées that houses the city of Pau, which, as you'll remember, is Miss Prudhomme's hometown. Because of the casual yet reverent way the French drink wine, she would naturally recognize a local wine (local to Pau, I mean).

Psychopath v. Sociopath - While these are both terms for the same disorder, the difference between them lies in origin of the behavior - nature verses nurture. Psychopath referring to psychological, biological, and genetic factors in addition to environmental factors, and sociopath referring to social factors and early environment. So, when Hannibal makes that distinction of her classification being sociopath over psychopath, essentially what he's saying is that she has Antisocial Personality Disorder because of things that have happened to her, not her natural brain chemistry.


End file.
